


"Til Death Do Us Part"

by TheMayBellTree



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Danganronpa is a reality show meant to handle overpopulation, Despair Disease (Dangan Ronpa), Existentialism, Introspection, M/M, Only in the first chapter, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Suicidal Thoughts, Weddings, it's also the only way people can die since humanity has beaten death, like... a lot of angst, postgame, things get better eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29956911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMayBellTree/pseuds/TheMayBellTree
Summary: “Congratulations! You have been accepted into Danganronpa Season 53!"The day that Shuichi Saihara realized he was going to die was his wedding day.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44
Collections: Saiouma Pit White Day 2021 Collection





	1. Pregame // Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first part for the Saiouma Pit White Day event! It's also Saiou Day, so... happy Saiou Day everyone! It's been a crazy 3-4 years! Let's continue loving Saiou ^^ /lh
> 
> The prompt this time: Anniversary/Wedding AND/OR Pre-Game.
> 
> I decided to do something a little spicy with the prompts this time and combine them into one fic! Therefore, prompts that weren't even supposed to be relevant until later (such as soulmates, which is the day 3 prompt), are shown in chapter one. This is a continuous story, so I hope you all keep reading! Day 2 is (hopefully) being posted on the 12th and Day 3 the 14th (White Day!). 
> 
> Also, this story is angsty, but it will have a happy ending! I promise! I pinky-promise!
> 
> Thank you to Psychiccupid for beta-reading!
> 
> CW: mild sui*ide ideation and talks of death.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Congratulations! You have been accepted into Danganronpa Season 53!”_

“Saihara-chan…” a tender hand laid on his back, “Saihara-chan…”

The day that Shuichi Saihara realized he was going to die was his wedding day.

According to urban legend, your wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. It was a day full of devotion, of love, of willingly submitting your life to someone for the rest of your life. Shuichi never knew what love was until he met his soulmate. When he began to see color, he had finally understood why he had been born into a never ending, immortal world; in a world such as this, where the only way to die was through a lottery and a cruel game show, he had never wanted to live. 

_“I think I understand…”_ he had said. _“I think I understand my reason for living.”_

Kokichi had smiled, then. He was always smiling. 

“Saihara-chan…” he had murmured. Then they had their first kiss. It was actually the fifth anniversary of their first kiss today, five years after Shuichi had finally understood that life was more than calculations, than waiting for an assigned death date, than hoping that one day he would be determined as one of the lucky few who gets the easy way out while he still had enough fervor to walk on his own two legs and go to work. 

Now, he sat on his kitchen floor, a tear-soaked letter resting underneath his hands and a small pair of fists barely keeping him upright. He had been getting ready, then. Kaito was supposed to come over to collect him. They were supposed to go to the chapel together. He was supposed to wait for Kokichi at the end of a long aisle. He was supposed to be happy today. They took away the happiest day of his life. 

“It’s not fair,” he had sobbed. Kokichi acted like he understood, but Shuichi couldn’t help but ponder whether his whispers and his quiet ministrations atop his head were performative or actual; then, just as quickly, he cursed himself. Kokichi may act aloof and uncaring in the most critical of times, but he loved him… right?

_Right?_

He’s not happy he’s going to die, right?

“We’ll fight this,” he said, “we’ll ask them to take someone else.”

Kokichi’s face screwed up in determination as he said that, certain and positive - it hurt Shuichi’s heart to see such a look of stricken yet absolute positivity for an abominable situation. Currently, Kokichi was supposed to be picked up by Miu. He was supposed to be getting his hair done and he was supposed to be flaunting his tuxedo. 

It was a helpless situation. In the past, many soulmates have complained about the Danganronpa system after their soulmate had been unfairly taken from them prematurely. Although Shuichi would like to complain, although he would like to protest, although he would like to beg… Danganronpa was unforgiving. It didn’t favor sob stories, nor did it favor desertion. This was the rule of the world. Kill or be killed… literally. 

“They said I’m the mastermind this season. They won’t let me go.”

Kokichi’s hands stiffened over his shoulder blades. 

“They want me to… kill people.”

“... yeah?”

“Even worse, they want me to… they want to overwrite my personality! They want to make me forget you! They…” a sharp sob burst from his throat and a stray tear fell onto that sheet underneath him. “They want me to think that this bullshit is okay!”

“Shuichi… we’ll figure a way out of this, okay? I promise.”

* * *

“Are you ready?”

_No. I’m not ready to die._

“You’re about to marry the love of your life.”

“Yeah…” Shuichi wired his mouth shut from where it had previously been agape and stupid. Kaito’s hand was on his shoulder. Someone was always touching his shoulder. He didn’t like it. “Hey… Kaito?”  
  


“What’s up, bro?”

“... stop touching me, please.”

“Oh! Right, sorry!” Kaito lifted his hand and backed away, almost stricken by Shuichi’s attitude shift. Yeah. He was supposed to be happy on his wedding day. 

_“We don’t have to do it. We can lay here and do some research on Danganronpa. We can get this mess settled.”_

It was tradition to be happy and positive on one’s wedding day. It was tradition to go to a merry little chapel with a merry little tuxedo and get merrily happy. A lot of young couples divorced within the first five years, you know. Shuichi had done research. He had warned Kokichi that by marrying early they would be submitting themselves to a system which didn’t befit those of their demographic; it was much better to marry old, to be experienced with love and know the person you’re marrying like the back of your hand. 

_“We’re soulmates!”_

Somehow, two words had won him over. Two nonsensical, stupid words in a stupid, immortal world.

What’s the use of a soulmate? What’s the use of a death date? 

A predetermined ending. A predetermined marriage. It was all predetermined from the start. Shuichi didn’t know if the theory that they were in a simulation was true or false; he didn’t quite believe in a higher being or a divine purpose; he didn’t know if immortality and fate and destiny was one big social experiment, but he did know whoever was in charge of his fate was one big, cruel jokester.

_“You’ll never get married if you keep to yourself, Shuichi!” The world was black and white. Everyday, it was black and white. One day, a young girl called out to him, a girl with light hair and a silly little cowlick adorning the crown of her head. She was pretty, yet fierce and stubborn. He remembered her. She sat next to him in class. They had known each other their entire life, but he had never once talked to her despite the both of them being in high school._

_In fact… he had never talked to anyone. He didn’t want to. Words were futile and oftentimes empty; he got bothered with loud noises and empty chatter. He didn’t care what the latest trend was, what television show was on last night, or what VTuber was a must-watch. He didn’t care. He didn’t care to care._

_Still, this girl seemed insistent. She said hi to him a few times, he remembered. He never spoke back._

_“Heeeeey! Are you listening to me?”_

_“No.”_

_“What? You finally spoke and_ that’s _the first thing you say?”_

_He had rolled his eyes then; she was bratty and annoying. Very annoying. He didn’t like nosy people. “Yes. Now I’m done.”_

_“See? You’ll_ never _get married at this rate!”_

_“That’s what soulmates are for.”_

_“The average age that you find your soulmate is in your early hundreds. You will need to settle down first, you’ll need to have a few kids, you’ll--”_

_It’s said that destiny is predetermined and certain events, no matter how coincidental, are always bound to occur in a set fashion. Time is a constant thing, flowing and changing. Every moment of the day, history is altering. When you choose to eat an apple instead of a banana, different vitamins enter your body. When you choose to use a car instead of a bike, you arrive at your destination faster yet you fail to exercise. This is a theory called string theory: everything is connected yet separate, and every single action in a day is prone to inventing an entirely new reality based off of one singular yet decisive event._

_Some things are bound by fate; Shuichi didn’t like to believe in destiny or a higher power. Life was rigid and certain, yet fluid and graceful. Personally, Shuichi liked to attribute discovering one’s soulmate to life expectancy. If you lived one million years, every single talent on earth would be mastered. If you lived one thousand, every single person would be met. It’s a fact of life, unchanging and stagnant._

_Life is predetermined._

_One meeting, supposedly uncoincidental, is predetermined._

_A boy had been passing; he was short and rather young-looking, but he was wearing the uniform of a neighboring high school. Shuichi was still busy talking to the stubborn girl, but he didn’t like eye contact so his line of sight had been drifting. That boy, curious, had looked to see what the commotion was about. At that exact moment, their eyes had connected. At that exact moment, the world flooded with color._

_The first color that Shuichi saw was a color he would later discover to be named purple. The boy was covered in purple. As Shuichi would later discover, his hair was a dark navy. Not exactly black yet not exactly blue. Apparently his eyes were amber. The boy was just purple. Sickly and sweet purple._

_Life is predetermined. His meeting with Kokichi was predetermined by fate. Like a thin, red string, it was cut short by death._

“Shuichi?”

Right. It was his wedding day.

“You’re spacing out a bit, bro. Are you alright?”

Kaito liked to think he was a gentle man. In truth, he was almost aggressive in his affirmations. It was better to be kind instead of vile, but there was a fine line to be drawn between aggression and friendliness. Kaito was still barely balancing on that line. 

Shuichi stood in front of a mirror. For five minutes, he had been staring at his reflection; despite acquiring a full night’s rest last night, he looked dead. His skin was pale and gaunt. His eyes were sunken and grey. His hair was lifeless and limp. He was lifeless. He was dead. 

He lightly gripped the tie in his hands and began tying it around his neck. It was too tight and uncomfortable yet snug and fitting. 

“Shuichi? You’re freaking me ou--”

“I have a question for you, Kaito.” A tiny grin came to his face. It was foreign and alien. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to die?”

“Uh? Well, I… I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” Kaito was just out of line of the mirror, so he couldn’t see his face. Maybe it made him less empathetic to whatever internal struggle he was having. It didn’t matter. He was having an internal struggle of his own. 

“I thought about it.”

“... yeah?”

“I never thought it would come true.” He was smiling. Really happily. He was really fucking happy. Yeah… real fucking happy. “This is the best day of my life, isn’t it?”

* * *

It hurts to be in love. 

Kokichi was looking rather dashing tonight. His white tuxedo was simple yet elegant; a small tailcoat flowed behind his upper thigh as he walked down the aisle. He chose to forgo a bouquet, despite Miu’s demands. She just wanted to catch it, he had said. She was being selfish, as usual. He didn’t care. He was so full of love that he only cared to be with Shuichi at that moment. He only cared to love him. He only cared to be held by him.

Meanwhile, Shuichi didn’t smile because he saw Kokichi walking down the aisle. He smiled because he knew that Kokichi would be sad when he saw his execution.

How fucked up was that?  
  


_This is love._

A pile of cards was being passed to him by Kaito. Oh. It was time for the vows, wasn’t it?

He was first, wasn’t he? 

He didn’t remember how to read. His mouth was dry. Every word he spoke was stupid and incoherent. He didn’t care. This was stupid.

“I love you, Kokichi,” he sobbed. Stupid, emotional… piece of shit. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

Somehow, Kokichi smiled. He acted like he didn’t know the truth. Despite Shuichi’s awful whines in the morning, he couldn’t let his makeup be ruined. Probably.

_No. You’re being unfair._

Right.

“Shuichi, I love you with all my heart…” and his grin widened. His teeth had always been so white and vampiric. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly happy, his smile would stretch to the roof of his lips and become gummy. He liked hiding this aspect of himself. He liked control, certainty, and strategy. In many ways, they were similar. Yet in many other ways, they were leagues apart. Like two halves of a whole, they would say. “I love you… and you know what they say… til death do us part.”

* * *

  
  


Honeymoons weren’t typically spent pouring over documents and searching abstracts and weird key phrases into Google. They liked this, though. They liked solving puzzles and mysteries. In a world where everything was absolute, there was no greater thrill.  
  
Once, Kokichi had turned to him. He had said, “you know I won’t give you up without a fight, right?”

Of course, Shuichi knew. He knew every moment that he walked on this earth that Kokichi loved him. He loved him too. He loved the way that he would twirl his hair around his finger when nervous, and how sometimes he would do the same action as a double bluff to hide his true nature. He loved the way his eyes twinkled when he was getting particularly excited over something he loves. He loved the way that he would dive nose-first into a problem and see it through to completion. He loved how competitive yet observant he was; he never let his emotions override his sense of logic. 

Kokichi was someone admirable. He had a future outside of him.

Maybe that’s why they had chosen Shuichi. If Kokichi died, Shuichi would’ve just given up. He didn’t want to go to a world of monochrome again; he didn’t want to hide his eyes again; he didn’t want to be friendless and talentless and emotionless again. 

“Kokichi…” 

The boy, his nose still stuffed in a book, didn’t hear him at first. It wasn’t until he had said his name for the third time, a sob brewing on the back of his tongue and a single tear rolling down his cheek, that he jumped and took off his reading glasses. His eyes, one purple and one a sweet honey, were strained and tired. The smallest of bags had deposited under his eyes. Even in sleep deprivation, he was handsome. He was melodic. He was better.

“Please stop this. This is hurting you, isn’t it?”

Then, his gaze had softened. “Of course it is. That’s why I’m helping you.”

“Don’t do this for me.”

A tired, bitter smile twisted Kokichi’s face; in all of his years knowing him, Shuichi knew that every action of his was planned and precise. Perhaps this was how he was in marriage. It must be exhausting to maintain barriers every day. He was tired, too. They fit together that way. “Oh, Saihara-chan…” he sighed, and that smile twisted again. “You think much too highly of me. I’m as selfish as they come.”

“No…” he muttered. “You’re not. You want to help me.”

Shaking his head, Kokichi grumbled, “I don’t want to lose you. That’s selfish of me.”  
  


_Selfish?_

“You’re not…” his voice, surprisingly, was firm. He hadn’t been able to speak with clarity since he had received the letter. Every word was bitter and laced with anger. Every sentence was introspective and mean. Every thought was gross and malicious. Still, he knew the truth. He liked the truth. The truth, like life, was absolute. Except, the truth, unlike life, could be kind and nurturing. “I don’t want to die.”

“I know.”

“It’s unfair, isn’t it?”

“Incredibly.”

“Why me?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question, of course. He didn’t expect an answer, much less a positive one. He didn’t care to receive one. It was a mindless piece of garbage, a blather, a bore. 

Despite these necessary truths, Kokichi responded simply: “You’re too good for this world, Shuichi. That’s why they want you gone.”

“I haven’t done anything with my life. I haven’t had a stable job in years. All I do is blog, and even that barely receives any traction.”

“Yet, I wonder… if perhaps it had the potential to?” pondered Kokichi, holding a single finger to his lips. “I wonder… if perhaps someone saw these ramblings that you might call ‘nonsensical’, and saw the value of it. If, perhaps, they saw your dissent and thought ‘this guy actually knows what’s up with this shitty, shitty world. I need to make sure that no one hears his voice.’”

Truthfully, that made Shuichi pause. He treated blogging as an easy safe space; a home away from his actual apartment. No one read his blogs anyways, so he was free to voice whatever thoughts he had. He was free to tell the government just how much they should piss off. He was free to complain about immortality all he wanted, even if it was for the good of humanity. He was free to. It was his right.

No.

It’s just a conspiracy theory.

“Regardless… it’s all speculation.”  
  


Kokichi smiled then, white and gummy just like on their wedding day. His outfit wasn’t as fancy and his hair was rather dull in comparison to the shininess of before, but his smile was outstanding and pert. “Yes. Just speculation…” He turned to his documents and his books, thumbing the pages and turning them like a young high schooler he had once known, always neck deep in more books than he could count. 

“Kokichi… it’s okay if you can’t find anything. Death happens. Life is predetermined. That’s just the way it is, right?”

  
The man nodded and turned back to his book, that gummy smile still firmly planted on his lips. “Yes, I know. Nihilism.” Then, Shuichi saw the faintest twinkle in his eyes, and with his next words his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “I said it before, Shuichi, and I’ll say it again. Til death do us part.”


	2. Despair Disease // In-Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi catches the forgetfulness disease.
> 
> Kokichi remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I'm back with another chapter! This time the prompt is: Despair Disease // In-Game! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and commented on the last chapter!

Above all else, Kokichi Ouma yearned for control.

In most situations, he had it. He was able to bend a social encounter to his will and he was able to make others think what he wanted them to and do what he needed them to. He wasn’t the Ultimate Supreme Leader for nothing; in all situations, he was steadfast and quick to think of a solution. He knew control. He was in control.

It should be said that he didn’t get sick often, if ever. This was a fact that had shocked many of his colleagues and the like in the past. Due to his short stature, many were prone to believe he was frail or had a weakened immune system. Contrary to popular belief, centimeters and the amount of meat on your bones were not representative of a healthy life. Granted, given his penchant for sweet things, carbonated beverages, and anything that wasn’t green and leafy, he could understand the confusion. Perhaps it would catch up to him later in life. Perhaps it would later this week. 

The fact remained that his immune system was relatively dependable. That was it. 

Even when the Despair Disease was first announced, he was one of the patented ‘lucky ones’, forced to care over their sickened and weak peers as they hoped, likely falsely, they would recover before a murder was committed. Needlessly, vainly, Angie called the others to pray. That is, before she was subjected to the Heresy Disease. This budding ‘student council’, as she called it, was broken after Angie admitted to Atua’s falsity. 

Now, he held back navy hair before a toilet bowl, grimacing as horrible retching reverberated against white tiles and a putrid scent invaded his nostrils. 

“H-Hey! Everything’s alright in there?” Kaito. They were taking shifts looking after the sick, usually in pairs of two or three, and when it was Kokichi’s turn to care for his beloved, as he was apt to call him, Kaito had insisted on tagging along. Something about not trusting him around his ‘sidekick’. It was a stupid attempt at boasting how much closer he was to the boy than Kokichi, or perhaps that Kokichi was a man clearly trying to take advantage of someone’s weakness to murder them in cold blood (which, if he was, he clearly wouldn’t do it when everyone knew he was watching after them). 

“I-I’m fine, Kaito…” before Kokichi could answer, Shuichi had already responded. The boy wiped his drool on his sleeve and flushed the toilet, attempting to stand without Kokichi’s aid. Of course, he immediately fell to his knees, deep breaths rocking his body as his nails dug into his lightly covered knees. “I… I…” and then he looked at Kokichi, confused. “What? Ouma-kun? What are you doing here?”

The Forgetfulness Disease. Monokuma was rather cruel, yet clever, when coming up with the strain that Shuichi would be infected with. A detective was renowned for their immaculate memory, a necessity for solving cases and figuring out how certain clues, no matter how odd they may be, fit together. In a killing game, where even the slightest slip-up or odd sentence can prove someone’s guilt, memory was vital. With Shuichi infected, their chances of accurately solving the murder for this case, which despite Kaito’s insistence was bound to happen, decreased by a significant margin. Maybe he’d have to step up.

“Saihara-chan, you’re sick.”

Shuichi’s eyes widened the tiniest fraction of an inch, as if he had just found out this information for the very first time. Then, he turned his head away to stare at the toilet bowl. If Kokichi hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve missed Shuichi’s slight nod and his quiet, nearly inaudible, “... right.”

“Well, let’s…” He reached towards Shuichi and grabbed him from behind, hooking his elbows into his armpits. Shuichi submitted to the manhandling and let Kokichi lift him. Despite the size difference, Shuichi was light; easily, Kokichi was able to hoist him up and loop his arm around his back. Well, perhaps  _ easy  _ was an overexaggeration. By no means was Kokichi physically strong. In fact, he was rather weak. When he exhibited the slightest difficulty with a strength-based action, he imagined that others might prosper. So, that made him wonder… was Shuichi eating enough?

Shuichi let the shorter boy drag him out of the bathroom and on to the bed, where he then proceeded to curl into a fetal position and weakly toss a pillow over his head against the invading bright lights. Seeing this, Kaito rushed over to the light switch and flicked it off, leaving the only remaining source of light in the room to be a single, red and weakened candle next to Shuichi’s bedside. Shuichi’s strain made him prone to frequent migraines, which logically speaking may be the source of a decent portion of his forgetfulness and delirium. However, aspirin proved completely ineffective against these headaches.

Kaito leaned against the wall next to Kokichi, staring forward blankly at his debilitated sidekick. “Hey, uh…” he paused and contemplated Kokichi, looking him up and down before proceeding with his train of thought. “He’s getting worse, isn’t he?”

Then, Kokichi simply smiled. “Well, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Kaito?” and he side-eyed the redness staining the inner cuff of Kaito’s sleeve. 

Kaito fell silent, his face strangely blank; it was an odd expression to see on the astronaut, normally so boisterous and annoying. If their situation was normal and Shuichi and Kaito weren’t both dying, Kokichi imagined he would be knocked cold with a punch straight to his temple. Regardless, Kaito just stared at Kokichi. Perhaps the dimness of the light fooled him, but Kokichi could swear he saw the lightest of grins marr his features. “You’re an awful little guy, aren’t you?”

Kokichi shrugged. “I get that a lot!”

“Right…” 

On his bed, Shuichi began hacking underneath his pillow. Desperately, he tossed it to the side and began pounding on his chest, turning around so that his face was turned towards the surface of his bed and bending over on his hands and knees, thick droplets of blood spraying from his mouth and onto the linens beneath him. Kaito, in a hurry, rushed over and began pounding on his partner’s back. 

Shuichi kept coughing.

For five minutes - maybe it was more, the boy kept spitting and coughing up blood onto his sheets. Kaito continued to rub his back silently, as if he knew exactly what the other boy was going through (and, judging by the blood staining his clothing, he did). Finally, Shuichi stopped. Almost immediately, his arms gave out and he collapsed onto the still wet blood, breathing heavily. Then, he turned to Kaito, a desperation in his gaze that Kokichi never wanted to see again. “K-Kaito… I’m dying, aren’t I? I’m dying, right? I don’t… know what’s happening…”

Kaito whispered something that Kokichi couldn’t quite hear and patted his sidekick’s head. A moment later, he turned to Kokichi. “I’m going to go get some more sheets. No funny business, okay?” and without waiting for a reply, he strolled towards the door and opened and closed it with ferocity and determination. 

In this entire exchange, Kokichi had stayed silent, observing. Shuichi was still breathing heavily on his bed, harsh wheezes racking his lungs with every inhale he took. If his condition kept worsening, Kokichi bet that Shuichi had potentially two days left alive, maybe less. There needed to be a murder, and soon. 

Slowly, the candle wick sputtered to a stop and Kokichi and Shuichi were both left in darkness. Kokichi began walking towards the end table next to Shuichi's bed. Underneath the table, they had taken to storing different assortments of candles of varying lengths and widths. Given that one of Shuichi’s main symptoms of his strain was migraines, they had little need for the room’s light to be on. They had instead taken to a more aromatically pleasing alternative.

As he lit the wick, he felt a hand claw at his pants leg. Shuichi stared at him blearily from his confinement, trapped within scores of blankets he had hoisted on top of himself shortly after Kaito’s departure. “Kokichi…”

_ Kokichi? _

“I… I… I missed you…”

_ What? _

“Um… Saihara-chan?” 

And at his confused utterance of the other boy’s name, as if stricken, Shuichi’s grip on his pants loosened and he reeled backwards. “O-Oh! Ouma-kun! I didn’t realize you were there.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Kokichi put down his lighter and leaned closer to Shuichi, placing his hand atop his head. It was warm and pleasant, but Kokichi knew enough about anatomy to deduce that, despite how his temperature warmed his frigid fingers, it probably wasn’t a good thing for his internal structure. “You have a fever, Saihara-chan. Lay back down. Momota-chan’s coming with more sheets soon.”

Shuichi pouted and blinked up at Kokichi, akin to a puppy in dire need of some yummies. In fact, Shuichi kind of looked like a puppy, didn’t he? The way his head tilted cutely when solving a difficult question, the way his eyes sparkled with excitement when discussing something of interest, the way…  _ gah, where was his mind going?  _ “I’m not tired,” the boy said. “I’ve been sleeping forever.”

He hadn’t. He’d barely been able to sleep all day, stricken by coughing fits and sentimentality. Another side effect of the forgetfulness disease. Once, as Kokichi had been watching him in the dead of night, he had awoken to sobbing as Shuichi reminisced about his mother. He had begged for a lullaby then, to soothe him to sleep. Kaede had been with him then, so of course she had taken the initiative to grab his hand and stroke his head as she whispered an old, Latin ballad into his ear. 

He wasn’t needed then. Kaede, a musical prodigy, had been who Shuichi had needed. She knew exactly the song to sing, she knew exactly what notes to hit, she knew everything about a subject that Kokichi, quite frankly, couldn’t care less about. He had only ever sang a lullaby a couple times, and it was always the same shitty one that everyone sang. He needed to then, because some of his DICE members, his family, were sick. He wanted them to feel better then.

  
  
  


Shuichi lowered his head as he stared at Kokichi, small and weak from Kokichi’s position. Rarely did he ever feel strong; he was renowned for his quick thinking and his leadership abilities, not necessarily his strength. Yet, in Shuichi’s presence, he was the powerful one. Shuichi was weak and vulnerable. The way he lowered his gaze from Kokichi’s, timid and unsure, was like that of a young child. In fact, he wouldn’t be shocked if that’s where his headspace was at again.

Shuichi wouldn’t remember this, right? He’d probably forget in five minutes.

With that conviction, Kokichi settled next to Shuichi, next to the blood stained sheets and the blood stained boy, and took his hand in his own. Shuichi simply smiled, his eyes so bright and innocent in the candlelight. With a voice foreign and too carefree for someone like Shuichi, he said, “what is it?”   
  


“I’ll help you sleep,” answered Kokichi. It was odd to be maskless in front of Shuichi; normally, he would run away and say that it was just a lie, that he was an idiot for thinking he would allow himself to be genuine in front of the detective. That was when Shuichi wasn’t weak and vulnerable, when he didn’t sometimes regress to the age of a mere child, when he didn’t remind him so much of the times that Heart would sneeze and beg to be lulled to sleep with a gentle lullaby. Shuichi would forget. He would forget and then Kokichi would continue being the asshole that he had always known him to be. He was content with a one-sided memory. 

He pulled Shuichi down to his lap. The boy jumped as his cheek slapped against his clothed thigh, but he quickly nuzzled into the fabric. Kokichi didn’t dare look down, frightened to see Shuichi cognizant glare staring back at him. He only felt the outlines of his lips as they stretched into a pleasant smile.

Carefully, he opened his mouth.

_ “Dancing bears, _

_ Painted wings, _

_ Things I almost remember. _

_ And a song someone sings _

_ Once upon a December.” _

He didn’t consider himself to be a good singer. His voice was shaky and out of tune at the best of times, and despite his rather flamboyant attitude he was a supreme leader instead of an idol for good reason. Still, he remembered the times when DICE would gather before him, swaying to ugly notes that would flood from his mouth. They would all clap and cheer as he bowed, thanking an imaginary lyricist and an imaginary pianist for their contributions to the act. Things were simple then. They were carefree. They could sing, no matter how out of tune it was.

Shuichi didn’t mind his shaky vocals. He snuggled closer to his gut and listened, drinking in the sounds to the chime of a doorbell. They both ignored it, soaking in a tender moment lost to two former lovers. Within him, he found the courage to set a hand upon Shuichi’s scalp, massaging it and stroking his hair.

_ “Someone holds me safe and warm. _

_ Horses prance through a silver storm.  _

_ Figures dancing gracefully across my memory.” _

On cue, his cheeks began to turn red and his head began to pound as invading memories from a past long ago danced before his eyelids.

_ “Someone holds me safe and warm. _

_ Horses prance through a silver storm. _

_ Figures dancing gracefully across my memory.” _

_ Kokichi sat atop Shuichi’s lap, swaying his head gently to the sweet melody flowing from his lips. Shuichi had always had an amazing voice, honed from years of lessons that his parents had insisted he take if he wanted to continue the family business. To their chagrin, he used his talents in a rather unconventional sense: singing to his fiance a fortnight before their wedding day. _

_ Shuichi had a talent for making him feel better with his voice. In the worst of times. In the best of times. As he ran a low-grade fever and a small cough, such as presently. He fed him soup, and made sure to make his tea just the way he liked it, and he stroked his hair as he whispered a song to him from one of his favorite childhood movies. Gentle, yet firm. Pleasant, yet coarse. Shuichi managed to balance even the most opposing of elements in a beautiful dance of harmony.  _

_ “Far away, _

_ Long ago, _

_ Glowing dim as an ember.” _

_ “Congratulations! You have been accepted into Danganronpa season 53!” _

_ It was on their wedding night that Shuichi had received his letter. _

_ After that, he became bitter. Vindictive. He began swearing more, and his nihilism became more potent than it ever had been. When Kokichi spoke to him, he could spot the hesitation and uncertainty within those amber eyes, as if questioning whether the words Kokichi spoke were genuine or fake. He began to question whether the love Kokichi felt for Shuichi, his soulmate, was rooted in lies. Sometimes, Kokichi would wonder if it was himself. A life dictated by fate; a life that said whom you were destined to marry and when you were destined to die.  _

_ Yet, he couldn’t deny how complete his life had become since meeting Shuichi. Always seeking control, always yearning to have the upper hand in any debate, always struggling and persevering towards empty causes with no end goal in mind. Trying, and struggling, and failing. Spiralling, wanting to die, wishing Danganronpa would choose him. Unfair, yet certain. Certain, yet spontaneous.  _

_ With Shuichi, it felt like he finally understood why. He knew why he had been born. He knew why he had to persevere. Finally, he had a reason for doing certain things that had oftentimes been considered meaningless to himself or those around him.  _

_ In one instant, everything had been ripped away from him. _

_ “Things my heart _

_ Yearns to know. _

_ Things it yearns to remember.” _

_ “Take me instead.”  _

_ Before him sat a grand jury. Fifty seats, all occupied by men and women of differing ages. They were the ones who determined who lives and who dies. They were the cruel bastards who ripped apart soulmates with glee, giddily flinging them onto reality shows for the entire world to watch them kill in order to save their own skin. A young woman with long, flowing blue hair and a pair of round glasses sitting upon her nose smiled. “What?” _

_ “You chose Shuichi Saihara to be the mastermind of Season 53. I’ll do it. I’ll be the mastermind. Leave him out of this.” _

_ A few seats away from the woman, a man rose from his seat. He was large and old, obviously having forgone the age reversal surgery in favor of succumbing to his natural aging process. There came a certain point in time when the age reversal process was required. By estimation, this man was nearing the endpoint. “You can’t waltz in here and demand that we adhere to your childish requests! Shuichi Saihara was chosen to be season 53’s mastermind and that decision is irreversible! I don’t know who let you in here, but--” _ _   
  
_

_ Kokichi cut him off hurriedly, striding forward until he was standing directly in front of the first row of the jury. “You claim that every person chosen to participate in Danganronpa is chosen purely by lottery! However, you chose, of all people,  _ Shuichi Saihara _ , who has made quite a name for himself as a dissenter of the national government, to become the mastermind! This is an action that you know will turn his ardent supporters against him, and prove any person willing to research his life before the game false! By making him Danganronpa’s mastermind, you are fulfilling your own narrative! Yet, you are leaving  _ me _ , the only person who knows the truth, alive! How do you think I will perform in your narrative?” _

_ That old man, still standing, then began to stammer. “W-What? These  _ outrageous  _ claims--” _

_ Yet he was cut off by that blue-haired woman, a special gleam in her eyes as she regarded Kokichi. “Go on.” _

_ Kokichi began to pace up and down the aisle, gesturing wildly with his hands. Yes, he was erratic. Yes, he was terrified. Yes, he had to prove that  _ he  _ would serve as a much better candidate to participate in Danganronpa than Shuichi! He had to! “Enter me into Danganronpa. The mastermind’s decision is always sent out before the other participants. Reverse your decision and choose me instead.” _

_ The woman shrugged and her grin widened. “Unfortunately, it is too late to reverse the decision on Shuichi Saihara. However--” and she winked at Kokichi. In an instant, he felt his blood run cold. “We have never had a pair of soulmates in a killing game before! It gives me a bit of an idea for the theme of this game, if you will…” Then she turned to her colleagues, an erratic smile etched upon her lips and her cheeks blushing cherry red. In an instant, Kokichi understood that this woman, however young she appeared to be, was actually the head honcho.  _ She  _ was whom he needed to convince. “I will be the mastermind of Danganronpa Season 53! And the theme for this season…” and she winked at Kokichi, “... is soulmates. _

_ “... and a song… someone sings… _

_ Once upon a December…” _

* * *

The Remember Disease. Cruel. This was more cruel than anything Monokuma had concocted in the past. As Kokichi sat in a bed, lying through his teeth about having to tell the truth, he felt his cheeks flush in anger. Kirumi and Gonta were supposed to be caring for him now, but Kirumi had left once Kokichi had convinced her that he was hungry and needed some soup. Shortly after, despite Kirumi’s insistence that he stay behind to tend to the sickened and frail form of Kokichi, Gonta had willingly left when Kokichi told Gonta that he had seen a rolly-polly outside. Now, he was left alone. Given Kirumi’s diligence, he estimated that he had maybe ten to fifteen minutes left before she arrived with the soup. He had requested an abhorrent amount of garnishes atop it, so that might leave him with some more time to plan. Not that he needed it.

In his end table, he had left a notebook. It was still blank and it stunk of fresh parchment. Next to this book, he had left an assortment of pens: purple, black, blue, green… these pens were meant to be for note-taking, for revising, for additional side notes - anything that fit his fancy. He had snatched the notebook from the warehouse as a just-in-case. He always liked to be prepared and keeping note of his observations and his plans were simply a part of that. Although he prided himself on his good memory, he lamented receiving an additional side effect to his condition. Maybe he would be stricken with forgetfulness, just as Shuichi was privy to, directly after this despair disease wore off. Maybe everything was a lie, and maybe he would keep being fed more and more lies, so much that he wouldn’t know what to keep track of. 

So he began recording. Quickly, he scratched down every single memory of his that seemed important. He wrote about soulmates, about Danganronpa, about the immortal world that existed beyond this glass cage, and about how they were the sources of entertainment for a group of sick fucks who chose who died. 

Based on his observations, Shuichi or Kaede was the protagonist of this killing game. Kaede was a leader. She was headstrong and courageous, speaking positivity to life even in the most dire of circumstances. Everyone listened to her. Everyone relied on her. That could be either a positive or a negative thing. Perhaps, she was a red herring. Shuichi in particular was rather dependent on her. Maybe she would take advantage of his vulnerability and strike him down at his weakest point--!   
  


No. Despite how little he agreed with Kaede’s ideology, that seemed out of character for her.

_ You never know. _

Perhaps she would kill someone else. How tragic would that be? The de facto leader of their little group of talented (talent _ less _ ) misfits, blooding her hands for the chance to get out of this fucked up situation. That would be awful, wouldn’t it? That was just the kind of situation that Danganronpa would eat up, wasn’t it?   
  


That became his first theory.

He kept writing and writing, ignorant of the fact that Kirumi had failed to return to his room and Gonta never came back to lament that he had not seen any bugs. He wrote of the potential murders and their victims. He wrote of each person’s most likely soulmate within the killing game - that added to whom was most likely going to be a murderer and a victim. Danganronpa was just the kind of reality show where they would doctor tragedy; wouldn’t it be tragic if one soulmate killed the other?

_ Would that be too much of a stretch? _

Maki was Kaito’s soulmate. He had seen the way his eyes had lit up once he laid eyes on her for the first time, his entire world filling with color. Miu had been awfully keen to hang around Kaede too, so perhaps she was her soulmate. He didn’t know anyone else well, whether it be in their past or present lives. He didn’t know who would react in what way to discovering their soulmate for the first time. 

When he connected once more to the outside world, it was to an announcement.

“A BODY HAS BEEN DISCOVERED!”

* * *

He had known Miu since they were children. While she was in and out of the hospital, he had always snuck over to her room while his mom was working. She didn’t have many visitors. Once, her teacher had brought her homework. After that, there was no one. No friends. No parents. No classmates. Not even a single pet.

He had first seen her when she was staring out of a windowsill. Her eyes had been so forlorn then, distant and idle as she regarded the kids playing with a ball just below her room. Kokichi had been playing then too. One of the boys had kicked the soccer ball into a bush and unfortunately he was the only kid small enough to go retrieve it. When he did, he looked up and met her eyes.

Over the following months, he kept seeing her. Injuries and illnesses were practically nonexistent due to the upgrades in medical technology, so it just left him puzzled. Despite incredible advances in an incredible world, she was wasting her time stuck in a lonely hospital room.

When he finally met her, he had just asked: “why are you here all the time?”

Her response would always be: “I tripped.”

Everytime he asked her in those coming years, that would always be her excuse. When she would come in with a broken leg or a sprained wrist, she would always say those two words. She never did tell him the reason behind her injuries. As time came to pass, she no longer had a reason to; as the duo transitioned into adulthood, she no longer went to the hospital. She would be over every single night, even when Shuichi and him had moved in together. They would watch endless marathons of Big Brother - a reality show that  _ never  _ seemed to end - or they would paint eachother's nails and make silly pastries. She was his maid of honor. Outside of Shuichi, she was the only person in his life who had ever wanted to talk to him. A lot of people labelled him as too cynical or cryptic. His penchant for inconsequential fibs were quick to annoy those around him. In a life as empty and as vain as theirs, he just wanted to make life more entertaining. They could live forever or they could die tomorrow. Who knows? She was the only one who had ever laughed at his stupid remarks, or shot back just as quick with an insult when he would push her buttons. From the beginning, she was the only one.

Now she was dead.

Kokichi killed her.

Not by his own hands, no. He had the gall to use someone else for his bidding. It was evil, yes. He was going to die soon… he knew that. Yet, he found himself wondering if that was the true path to victory. He was not the protagonist of this story. Perhaps Tsumugi had been moved differently by his plea to spare Shuichi’s life than he had first thought; perhaps, when she looked at him, she saw the potential for great evil. Perhaps, she thought it would be terrific to pit him against his soulmate, the very man he sought to save. 

He should’ve told him. Maybe Shuichi would’ve listened. Yet, he was stricken by fear. Tsumugi could kill them both. It was enough for Kokichi to suffer alone with his knowledge. It was enough for him to dig his own grave and tumble backwards into it. He would die alone, with no one to mourn him. Even Shuichi would forget. When he woke up from this nightmare, he would wonder who his soulmate was and why he could no longer see color. He would never know.

He killed someone. He killed his best friend.

She wanted to kill him first. Yes. Maybe that knowledge would help him to sleep better at night, despite the internal dialogue constantly pounding and tapping against his skull, reminding him that he should’ve broken down his barriers for just one second.

Yet that was dangerous. Every move he made, every word he said, was constantly being scrutinized by Tsumugi. He would die alone. No one would care. They would probably all shout for joy, all because of a few words he could never say. They would kill everyone close to him, even more than they already had. They would kill Shuichi next.

“Ouma-kun! Wait!” He froze.

In the dead of night, as he departed on his lonesome to the dormitories, he heard the drum of two feet pounding against the pavement. A reddened Shuichi stood before him, breathing deeply after his jog from the trial grounds. His eyes were wide and wild; the cowlick decorating the top of his head was nearly flattened against his scalp. Shuichi stood straight, unbothered by the fact that he was facing someone who had just willingly murdered two of their friends. 

“... Saihara-chan.”

  
  
“This doesn’t make sense!” 

Ah. Kaito’s needless optimism had infected him too. Great. And so Kokichi tugged his face into that cruel smirk that he had grown fond of; uncomfortable yet comforting, it was his new home. If he couldn’t be the man that Shuichi had known, the one that he had fallen in love with, then he knew that he could be the person he had always tempered. He could be cruel. He could be awful. He would  _ become  _ the mastermind. He would  _ become  _ the person he had always hated. He would become who Shuichi hated. “Make sense?” he threw his arms to the side and snickered, “what  _ doesn’t _ make sense, my dear detective? I  _ love  _ watching you suffer! I enjoy other’s misery! Or… is that too much for your little bitty no-good detective brain to handle?”

If that insult hurt Shuichi, he didn’t show it. He stepped forward, his cheeks still flushed from exertion. Every breath he took, every movement he made - it caused Kokichi’s heart to start beating quicker and quicker. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew that he hoped for Shuichi to start unravelling his lies. He knew that he wanted Shuichi to remember. He knew. He wanted nothing more than Shuichi to see past this cracking mask, to recognize the husband that he had forgotten. “That’s not true… I remember, Ouma-kun.”

Then his heart stopped.

“I remember how you sang to me. W-When I was sick, with the despair disease… I didn’t forget. You sang to me.” Shuichi kept walking closer to him. “Your voice was beautiful.”

So that’s what he remembered. Right.

“Ah… that? Obviously, I was playing the part! I couldn’t let someone catch on to my act so early now, could I?”

Shuichi shook his head. “No. There was no need for that… I had the forgetfulness disease. Remember? You sang to me and comforted me because you wanted to, isn’t that right, Ouma-kun?” he kept walking forward. Closer. Closer. So close that Kokichi could see the way that Shuichi’s eyes softened once he regarded him. Comforting. Quiet ease. He remembered those eyes. When he proposed and asked for Kokichi’s hand in marriage, he had that same look in his eyes. Every night when they laid down together, he looked at him with those eyes. Every date. Every movie. 

So familiar. So touching. So perfect. 

_ So wrong. _

“... Saihara-chan. I just murdered two of your friends. You shouldn’t even try to give pity to a monster like me… unless you’re just as much of a monster?”

Reeling back, Shuichi lifted his hands and shook them in dissent. “N-No! I just… don’t--”

This was to protect Shuichi.  _ Shuichi  _ was the protagonist.  _ Kokichi  _ was the antagonist. Shuichi was guaranteed a long life after this show ended. If Kokichi stuck to the script - whether it be his or the script that Danganronpa had long prepared - then Shuichi would win. He just needed to play the part. He would be the villain. Shuichi could be the hero of this story.

He turned on his heel and began walking towards the dormitories.

“Ouma-kun! Wait! Please!”

He didn’t bother to listen to Shuichi’s pleas, even as they increased in intensity. He didn’t look back when Shuichi abruptly stopped his yelling. He didn’t look back. He never looked back.

If Shuichi knew how much he had done for him… he wondered how sympathetic he would be. Maybe he would try to stop him. Maybe he would beg him to stop his descent into villainy and reveal the truth.

That storyline had never been an option for him. As soon as he remembered a blue-haired witch with the most crooked and cruel of smiles, he had no option. He would die. Shuichi would live. When he begged to be placed in Danganronpa, his storyline, his role… everything was predetermined from the moment Tsumugi took a look at him. He knew it was even back then.

_ Danganronpa is cruel. _

Perhaps, in an odd way, that was Tsumugi’s way of granting mercy on him. He didn’t care if he died. Shuichi was much more valuable. He could change this fucked up world. Maybe his death would be the final push he needed.

* * *

“Ouma… you ready?”

His back hurt. His arm hurt. The inside of Kaito’s coat was warm and soft, but his blood was beginning to pool inside of it. It made him queasy and irritable, and that fine cotton was beginning to get rather sticky, but it would all be over in a second.

He stared at that gray press above him. In a moment, he would be crushed. He would be yet another victim to Danganronpa. 

“Yeah. Go.”

In the seconds before death, life slowed down. He had often thought that such admissions were false and people begging for attention. After all, why would life need to slow down, to remind you of its cruel sting, when you were going to be revived in a measly hour? Maybe it was because he knew that he wasn’t going to be revived this time. When that press crushed him, it was over.

On his wedding night, Shuichi had been crying in his arms. They took away the happiest day of their life for a stupid reality show. They took away their  _ lives  _ for this damn show. Their memories, their personalities, everything that made them human and alive was gone. These people, everyone who had died and who he had killed, they weren’t coming back. No one was ever going to come back. Miu was dead. Gonta was dead. Kaito was going to be dead. Kokichi was dead. 

Shuichi wasn’t dead.

Shuichi was alive.

Shuichi didn’t want to die, so he wasn’t going to die. Kokichi knew it. He knew he was going to die. From the very start of this damnable killing game, he had known. Every time he let a lie slip from his mouth, every time he laughed cruelly at someone’s fate, every time he let his mask fuse itself directly onto his bare skin and  _ become  _ him, he had known.

There was one thing that this damn game would never,  _ ever  _ take away from him, though.

In the end,  _ he  _ was going to rule this killing game. Posthumously, he was going to control this trial. Everything was in Kaito’s hands now. Everything was in Shuichi’s hands now. Shuichi would expose the lies of this entire game, even if he had to use his death to do it.

He didn’t really want to die.

… he really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to die.

_ Closer, closer… _

No… he didn’t want to die.

He still wanted to do so many things.

He wanted to marry Shuichi again. He wanted to have a normal day with his husband. He had never had that. Danganronpa took that away from them, too.

He wanted Miu back. They could paint eachother’s nails again!

_ Closer… _

Kaito and Maki… no, they still needed their own wedding!

_ Almost… _

He was going to be Miu’s best man!   
  


_ Die! Die! Die! _

“Shuichi--!”

_ Any last words? _

“End Danganronpa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... uhhhhhh...
> 
> I promise this has a happy ending!!!!
> 
> But ummm... if you have liked the story so far, please leave a kudos and comment! I really appreciate it ^^ just one more chapter left! Next: Soulmates // Post-Game!
> 
> TWITTER: @M_BTree
> 
> Join the Saiouma Pit: https://discord.gg/wWA9CZtyw2

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I hope you enjoyed this fic. I-It seems *real* angsty now, but I promise it will get better! ... Eventually!
> 
> Anyways, if you enjoyed this chapter please leave a comment and a kudos! Maybe even a bookmark if you wanna keep up to date on the other chapters! It makes my world ^^
> 
> Twitter: @M_BTree
> 
> Join the Saiouma Pit: https://discord.gg/5a35Yyx
> 
> The next prompt: Despair Disease AND/OR In-Game. Until next time!


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